


Spearmint

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Date, Fluff, date, ok a little bit of hurt/comfort but it's mostly fluff i swear, three times, trans!Fitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: A relationship journey, in three spearmint milkshakes.





	Spearmint

**Author's Note:**

> From a tumblr prompt requesting more FitzSimmons-centric trans!Fitz. A pleasure to oblige! For more trans!Fitz, check out the Bridget!Verse Collection of which this fic is part.
> 
> Happy Pride everybody! Feel free to prompt me, especially Pride-related prompts, in the tags or on tumblr (@theclaravoyant)!

for more FitzSimmons + Trans!Fitz see: [Leopold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7041091/chapters/16013413)

-

“Why don’t you ever come swimming?” Jemma wondered, bringing her ponytail around to the side so that she could sponge it dry a little before moving onto the rest of her body. A bikini decorated in bright orange and pink floral print contrasted her pale flesh, but Fitz couldn’t help but blush a little as he tried not to look too hard. She was his best friend, but he was only a man. 

“I- I don’t know,” he explained. “I guess I still don’t like taking my top off.” 

“Why?” Her eyes darted down to his chest. “Do you have scars?”

Fitz crossed his arms. 

“I’d rather not talk about it. Just… hurry up and put a shirt on, please.” 

Jemma rolled her eyes and tugged a loose shirt over her shoulders. Then, wrapping the towel around her hips, she gestured for Fitz to lead the way from the pool area. 

“You know, there are bathing suits that wouldn’t require you to wear a top. And plenty of the guys swim in tanks.” 

She gestured to a group of them, as one leapt almost out of the water to spike a volleyball into the opposing side. Fitz fixed her with a sardonic glare. 

“Oh yeah because I can do _that.”_

“You could if you wanted to.” 

“Have you _seen_ me?” Fitz gestured to himself. “I’m made of spaghetti! I was not built for physical prowess, Jemma, I am a massive nerd and I have accepted my place.”

Jemma laughed, a snorting, nose crinkling laugh.

“You _do_ know we attend a school _full_ of certified Massive Nerds, right?” she reminded him. “It’s not like we’re the only prodigies in the world.” 

“I’m the youngest guy here by almost three years,” Fitz pointed out, holding the gate open for Jemma. “Do you know how much puberty you can go through in three years? It’s a lot.” 

“You’re not the youngest _person_ here, though,” Jemma insisted. “You can’t tell me some of the girls haven’t been looking. Come on.” 

She grinned, and looked him up and down a little mockingly. He was fully dressed in shorts, a tank, and a half-open button-up tee, but he still felt tempted to cover himself further, squirming under her gaze. Realising he was uncomfortable, Jemma sobered up a little. 

“Nobody?” she wondered. “Well, have you asked anybody?” 

“A few people,” Fitz admitted, “but we never get past a first date.” 

Jemma baulked and glanced back over her shoulder, feeling her blood begin to boil in indignant defensive rage. 

“Not because of _that,”_ Fitz assured her, and urged her to walk on before they could make a scene. “That’s not first date material. It’s just… me. I can’t flirt to save my life, I find forced conversation boring, and I’m too insecure. If I’m attractive it’s because of my brain, but once they realise the brain comes with this grouchy, gangly… mess… it’s all over.”

He shook his head and Jemma puffed her chest, still indignant, though not as enraged this time.

“You converse with me all the time!” she insisted. 

“You’re not forced!” Fitz explained. “Or boring. And for some reason, you like this gangly insecure mess. If you could tell your friends why, I’d be much obliged.” 

Jemma laughed a little, but this time, it died out as Fitz stopped them by the corner of the rec centre’s café and began to dig in his pocket for some cash. How was she supposed to tell him it was because of lines like that? It was because he was sweet and funny, as well as smart, that she liked him. But, it seemed, he did not like her back, or he – genius that he was – would have surely thought to ask out the girl, apparently the only girl, that he enjoyed having conversations with. 

“I was just going to get a candy bar,” Fitz prompted, “but I’ve got time before Calc. Want to stop for a milkshake? I’m buying.” 

“A milkshake?” Jemma raised her eyebrows. “In this weather?” 

“Swimming?” Fitz gestured to her shirt, which was beginning to soak in places she had not finished drying off. “In this weather?”

 _Touché._ Jemma’s incredulity turned into a smug smile and she slipped into a nearby seat as her reply.

“Spearmint, please,” she specified. 

“Naturally.” 

- 

“A burger joint?” Jemma mused, looking around as Fitz held the door open and she stepped through. “You should have warned me. I would have worn my full skirt.”  

“And that’s, what, a half-skirt?” 

Fitz gestured to the rich ruby-red dress she wore. 

“No, I just like syncing my outfit with the mood of the evening, that’s all.” 

“Well, I didn’t have a 50’s suit lying around, so fair’s fair,” Fitz explained. Jemma smiled appreciatively at his tux. They were probably overdressed for this place, but it was one of the classier themed restaurants she had been too – and frankly, they had been through too much to give a damn anyway.

“I _wanted_ to take you somewhere swanky,” Fitz continued, “but given the, uh, heaviness of our last first date I thought I’d keep things a bit lighter this time around. And I know you like burgers, and curly fries, and you hardly ever let yourself eat them.”

“I have a reputation to maintain,” Jemma explained, but her eyes glinted with mischief as the waiter brought a basket of curly fries over to the table. She plucked one out the instant it was set down, and bit into it hungrily.

“This was a brilliant idea, Fitz!” she exclaimed. “And not just because I’d like to eat my _weight_ in these fries and never look at garlic bread again. Good food, a fun theme, it was really clever of you to think of it. I love it. Even if I do have a skirt with literal poodles on it that I never get to wear anymore.” 

“Didn’t you buy that as a costume for Daisy’s birthday?”

“I fell in love with it, okay?!” 

Fitz refrained his laughter as another waiter came around with two milkshakes – chocolate for him, spearmint for her – and set them down on the table, and left again. Jemma blinked as she watched them leave, and looked around. Leaning across the table, she whispered: 

“Fitz? Did you book out this whole place again?” 

“You said it was sweet.”

“And _expensive!”_ Jemma gasped. “You don’t have to do that anymore, you know I’m okay now, right?” 

“Jemma.” For a moment, Fitz’s eyes were solemn as he lay his hand over hers. They were so far from _okay_ that even thinking about the distance was too much, really, and Jemma’s expression softened. 

“It is sweet, though,” she acknowledged. “It’s just… also sweet to know we can afford to eat for the next month.”

“Oh, Coulson’s paying. For the venue, I mean. Everything else is on me but he insisted on contributing to your ‘mental health fund’. Which he’s put me in charge of, because he knows you’ll never touch a penny if you can help it.” 

Jemma rolled her eyes.

“That’s sweet too, damn it.” Blinking, she found herself tearing up. “ _No,_ this was supposed to be fun! _Fun!”_  

“Hey, happy crying’s alright,” Fitz assured her. “We don’t do much of that these days. Have some milkshake. Uh - you still like spearmint, right? I don’t think we’ve had it since… you know.”

Jemma took a deep breath, creeping apprehension filling her gut. Part of her wished he’d never brought it up, but now that she thought about it, if she took a big gulp and hated it she’d never drink spearmint again. Squeezing his hand where he still held hers, Jemma took a slow, hesitant sip… 

And then she drank deep, and sighed in satisfaction. Her memory filled with long days at the Academy where Fitz had shouted her more than a few of these shakes. Of swimming with her friends even when it was cold. Of beachside holidays with her family, and car trips through the crisp morning air. Of Fitz and Daisy sword-fighting with tongue-sharpened candy-canes, and Fitz bringing her breakfast in bed, and of the snow and the sun, and back here. 

Fitz was smiling. She could see the curiosity in his eyes, wondering where she had gone, but he kept the question to himself. 

“Still good?” he asked instead.

“Still good.”

-

“I’ll have the bran berry forest yoghurt, please,” Jemma requested. “And he will have… _”_

Jemma nudged Fitz with her foot under the bench. The diner was a lot more contemporary-road-house than 1950s-milkshake-bar, and the all-but-soldiers that had traipsed in that morning were far from the goofy teenagers or overdressed second-first-date-goers that had gone before them, but they were not immune to hunger. Or to sentiment. Maybe, Jemma thought, just maybe, sharing bacon and eggs, hashbrowns and pancakes with his dearest friends might help lift Fitz out of this funk, at least for a while. 

“Fitz?” she pressed. “Would you like me to order for you?”

For a moment longer, she contemplated dragging him outside or out the back for a scolding and a speech insisting that she was not going to let him stave out of this misery. But then, he smiled uncertainly at the waitress.

“The English Breakfast, please,” he requested softly. “And, uh. Two milkshakes, please? One chocolate, one spearmint.” 

“Sure thing, sir.” The waitress nodded. “Can I take your menu?”

“Hey, can I get in on that milkshake thing?” Daisy wondered. “What’s the best one? Chocolate? That’s always a safe bet, right?”

“Sounds good for you, but I’ll take a vanilla,” May said.  
  
“We do have a chocolate-banana if you’d prefer it?” the waitress offered. “Or choc-mint or choc-peanut.”

“Damn, I’m allergic to peanut,” Coulson muttered, “but I’ll take the choc-banana. Daisy? Choc-banana? Mack? Elena?”

The rest of the table erupted into a rousing debate on milkshake flavours that was both intriguing and entertaining given the waitress’ expression. At the end of the table, Fitz and Jemma let it fade into noise. 

“Thank you,” Jemma murmured, taking a sip of her shake. Fitz smiled a little, and she felt her heart settle in equal measure, as he showed her that despite his fears and doubts, he still saw some place with her. 

“It’s no problem,” he assured her. 

She reached for his hand, and he let her take it.


End file.
